thankful that his mount did not balk or waver.
The osmur came toward him with terrifying speed; its sharp teeth bared, revealing two ivory tusks; its long hairy arms reaching out to slash at his horse. As it tossed its head back to sound a challenge that was part roar, part scream, Hawk caught a whiff of a breath so foul that it made its sour body odor seem mild by comparison.
Fighting back a wave of nausea and almost paralyzing fear, Hawk dug his heels into his horse so that it galloped forward and slightly to the left. Roslyn, seeing his move, pulled her sword from the scabbard tied to her saddle and rode to the right.
Hawk tightened his grip on the javelin and plunged ahead, forcing his gaze away from the beast's huge mouth. He aimed for the osmur's wide, golden eyes that shone like a cat's in the half-light. However, the carnivore's massive arm deflected his blow. The weapon only grazed its throat and chest before the osmur seized the javelin and tossed it to the ground.
Roslyn had circled behind it, and as the osmur reached for Hawk with its claws extended like small curved knives, she pressed her knees against her gelding and urged it ahead. At the same time she gripped the hilt of her sword with both hands and, with all her might, swung it at the beast, slicing through the thick muscles of its neck in a single stroke, decapitating it.
As the osmur's head fell, its fingers raked across Hawk's face and arm. Then the huge body staggered and toppled forward. Blood poured from the wound, staining shiny green fur.
Behind them, Hawk and Roslyn heard the roar of several other osmurs and the rustling and breaking of branches. They did not turn to look but urged their horses onward, twisting through the forest around the giant trunks, until at last they reached the riverbed and felt the warmth of the setting sun upon their faces.
As they galloped toward the bridge, Ro noticed the blood on Hawk's face and shoulder. "Are you badly hurt?"
"No, these are just flesh wounds," he replied. "We'd better not stop here, though the osmur pack will probably halt to eat the one we killed. We're not very far from Threeforks."
Roslyn wanted to protest, but she recognized the wisdom of Hawk's words. The osmurs might want more of a meal and keep following them along the river, but they wouldn't go much farther away from the skytree forest.
She slowed as they crossed the stream and leaned down to rinse the blood off the sword she still held. Born of melting mountain snow, the water numbed her fingers as the red fluid vanished in the crystal stream.
She hastily sheathed her sword and rubbed h hand against her leg. Then she shivered. Clearly they'd narrowly missed a confrontation with a pack of full-grown osmurs.
An ominous emptiness replaced the throbbing sense of foreboding that had warned her of the creatures. I was as though the osmurs had only been a prelude some greater danger.
Roslyn glanced up at Hawk, who waited for her on the other side of the stream. She sensed that whatever she faced would involve him as well.
Despite the pain of his wounds, he still sat erect with as proud a bearing as ever. He was a puzzle to her. She'd heard that he was one of York's best scouts, she knew that he was a powerful bird-path, and the fight with the osmur had revealed his bravery; yet at times he seemed unsure of himself and unaware of his own capabilities. Although she hardly knew him, she already liked him, and perhaps his unpretentiousness was part of the reason.
Spurring her horse forward, she wondered what part Hawk would play in the coming ambush and if the trap at Threeforks would succeed. But as she searched for some foreknowledge of the future, as usual her precognitive ability remained outside her conscious control. She felt only the apprehension brought about by the knowledge that they were outnumbered rather than by any prescience.
Following Hawk as he galloped ahead, she shiver: again and pressed her hand harder again st her
The osmur came toward him with terrifying speed; its sharp teeth bared, revealing two ivory tusks; its long hairy arms reaching out to slash at his horse. As it tossed its head back to sound a challenge that was part roar, part scream, Hawk caught a whiff of a breath so foul that it made its sour body odor seem mild by comparison.
Fighting back a wave of nausea and almost paralyzing fear, Hawk dug his heels into his horse so that it galloped forward and slightly to the left. Roslyn, seeing his move, pulled her sword from the scabbard tied to her saddle and rode to the right.
Hawk tightened his grip on the javelin and plunged ahead, forcing his gaze away from the beast's huge mouth. He aimed for the osmur's wide, golden eyes that shone like a cat's in the half-light. However, the carnivore's massive arm deflected his blow. The weapon only grazed its throat and chest before the osmur seized the javelin and tossed it to the ground.
Roslyn had circled behind it, and as the osmur reached for Hawk with its claws extended like small curved knives, she pressed her knees against her gelding and urged it ahead. At the same time she gripped the hilt of her sword with both hands and, with all her might, swung it at the beast, slicing through the thick muscles of its neck in a single stroke, decapitating it.
As the osmur's head fell, its fingers raked across Hawk's face and arm. Then the huge body staggered and toppled forward. Blood poured from the wound, staining shiny green fur.
Behind them, Hawk and Roslyn heard the roar of several other osmurs and the rustling and breaking of branches. They did not turn to look but urged their horses onward, twisting through the forest around the giant trunks, until at last they reached the riverbed and felt the warmth of the setting sun upon their faces.
As they galloped toward the bridge, Ro noticed the blood on Hawk's face and shoulder. "Are you badly hurt?"
"No, these are just flesh wounds," he replied. "We'd better not stop here, though the osmur pack will probably halt to eat the one we killed. We're not very far from Threeforks."
Roslyn wanted to protest, but she recognized the wisdom of Hawk's words. The osmurs might want more of a meal and keep following them along the river, but they wouldn't go much farther away from the skytree forest.
She slowed as they crossed the stream and leaned down to rinse the blood off the sword she still held. Born of melting mountain snow, the water numbed her fingers as the red fluid vanished in the crystal stream.
She hastily sheathed her sword and rubbed h hand against her leg. Then she shivered. Clearly they'd narrowly missed a confrontation with a pack of full-grown osmurs.
An ominous emptiness replaced the throbbing sense of foreboding that had warned her of the creatures. I was as though the osmurs had only been a prelude some greater danger.
Roslyn glanced up at Hawk, who waited for her on the other side of the stream. She sensed that whatever she faced would involve him as well.
Despite the pain of his wounds, he still sat erect with as proud a bearing as ever. He was a puzzle to her. She'd heard that he was one of York's best scouts, she knew that he was a powerful bird-path, and the fight with the osmur had revealed his bravery; yet at times he seemed unsure of himself and unaware of his own capabilities. Although she hardly knew him, she already liked him, and perhaps his unpretentiousness was part of the reason.
Spurring her horse forward, she wondered what part Hawk would play in the coming ambush and if the trap at Threeforks would succeed. But as she searched for some foreknowledge of the future, as usual her precognitive ability remained outside her conscious control. She felt only the apprehension brought about by the knowledge that they were outnumbered rather than by any prescience.
Following Hawk as he galloped ahead, she shiver: again and pressed her hand harder again st her
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